Re: carriage house: matt/atticus
[Matt shook his head.] Might've. [He didn't think Atticus gave himself enough credit, even if he was a straight up idiot for jumping on a werewolf bite with nothing but the promise of a total stranger. He'd gotten lucky. He liked that laziness, though, in a strange way. It made Atticus easy to put faith in, laid back in a way that communicated confidence. That was the upside, anyway.
Sitting on the couch, the island among the books, Matt felt more at ease than he had for a while. He'd been various levels of worried about Atticus for the last month, and the situation with Janus felt somehow distant from this room right now. He found it easy to compartmentalize the danger of the next moment from the quiet of the present. In war, you'd go crazy without it. Maybe it wasn't healthy, being able to shut away what wasn't here and now, but it made it easier for him to enjoy Atticus' easy lean, the weak sharp-bitter taste of the beer. He caught Atticus watching him, and he set the beer down on the nearest flat surface, glancing back with a small, puzzled smile. Were they actually doing this?
To the subject of what he had or hadn't said to PJ, Matt had nothing more to give. It was crystal clear to him that he'd fucked up, that much was certain, and mislead her to boot. That was between the two of them to work out, not for Atticus to stand in the middle of, and he'd need to deal with it.
He wasn't even really thinking about Atticus when he spoke about people showing their interest, too wrapped up in a low, unpleasant sense of dismay. PJ was his friend, and he'd done her a wrong. Matt might be a lot of things, but disloyal was not one of them. He watched Atticus tap out his cigarette, but he didn't move from where he was sitting just yet, arm still slung across the back of the couch, and he liked the growl, evident in narrowed eyes and an intent look.
He was going to ask Atticus what he'd said that got him growling, but that got pretty well cut off by getting definitely not pounced on. He had a moment to be surprised, more at Atticus' hand on his face than anything else, but not much more than that, and then he was tasting cigarette ash and beer, which he met, pressing up a little. They talked about this a little, sure, but the will-they-won't-they lack of surety from another century still clung to him a little. Coming from a time when you never wanted to be the guy who took the gamble on a beating, he felt a strangely familiar flood of relief and heat, and something a little like a laugh. He kissed back, turning into Atticus, pressing a firm hand against his back. So far, so good - no one had been this physically close in just about as far as he could remember, and aside from a slight prickle along the back of his neck, he could give as good as he got.] You wanna talk some more? [A show of teeth.]